Make Me Whole
by Ada15
Summary: When John Cena and CM Punk are caught in a bad situation, they are forced to take care of each other and to realize a few things. John Cena/CM Punk.
1. Chapter 1

This is slash and I'm not sure how it turned out. Maybe it's unrealistic but I guess this just popped into my head and wouldn't leave.

I don't own anyone mentioned in this fic

Xxxxxxx

"We sure about this?" Randy asked again, eyeing Kofi, who rolled his eyes.

"I am. Everyone can see it and they're starting to drive people insane." Kofi stood with some distance between himself and Orton. They weren't friends but Randy was best friends with John Cena and that was what he needed to make this work.

"You know they're gonna kill us for this?" Randy asked, but there was only amusement shining in his gray eyes.

"Yeah, I know." Actually, he was pretty sure Punk would. But, he figured Randy wasn't as safe as most people would assume. John was a nice guy but that didn't mean he never got angry, or that he was a pushover.

"He's already agreed, hasn't he?" Kofi pressed, with a glance at his phone.

Randy sighed. "Yeah, he'll be there."

"Good."

Xxxxxxxxx

John was frowning as he walked backstage, down one of the more deserted halls of the arena. The locker rooms were on the other side of the building but Randy had asked him to meet in one of the rooms far away from the locker rooms.

He couldn't help but to be worried. Randy was acting pretty strangely and the fact that he wanted to meet before the show started concerned him. Randy had just gotten back from suspension, after all.

John hadn't bothered stopping by the locker rooms first and his bag was still over his shoulder when he got to the room Randy had asked him to meet him in, he stepped inside, and stopped in his tracks just as he closed the door behind him.

There was someone in the room but it wasn't Randy. John let out an exasperated breath just as the other man stood from the bench he'd been sitting on and glared at John.

"What the hell?" Punk sounded just as irritated as John felt.

"I'm guessing someone decided to set us both up," John answered.

"I'm going to kill Kofi," Punk said, his irritation hiking up to flat out anger.

"Yeah." John rolled his eyes and turned back to the door, wondered how Randy thought this would work. He did get his answer, however when he tried to open it and found it jammed. He pressed his weight against it, his own frustration growing when the door didn't budge.

"I take it back," Punk commented, watching John. "I think I might kill them both."

"I think I might help you."

Xxxxxxxx

"How much time?" Kofi asked, walking away from the door beside Randy, wincing when he heard one of them banging on it, trying to get it open.

"Show starts in about an hour," Randy said. "Got at least thirty minutes before we have to let them out."

"Probably find them unconscious or worse," Kofi mumbled. He groaned when his phone vibrated and he saw the creatively threatening text from Punk. "This better be worth it."

Xxxxxxxx

"What are you doing? Giving up already?" Punk asked when John stepped away from the door.

"The door's pretty heavy," John pointed out. "And they must've wedged something heavy against it. I can't get it open."

"Oh, what? Super-Cena isn't strong enough?" He pushed against the door himself, his anger towards Kofi only growing.

"Relax, would you? They can't keep us in here forever. We still have to start the show. Randy's in enough hot water already. They'll wait about a half hour then come let us out."

"Right." But Punk couldn't relax. He knew why Kofi had done this and being alone in a room with John for longer than he had to be for work wasn't something he would particularly enjoy.

"Look, we don't even have to talk to each other. Just…" John trailed off, looked away from him and Punk felt something in his chest twist. He knew why Kofi had done it but he couldn't do what he knew Kofi wanted him to do.

He even felt the sting of betrayal. He'd told Kofi something in confidence, because they were friends, because Kofi was probably his best friend in WWE. He felt like Kofi was using that against him.

"Damn right we don't have to talk." He gave up on the door a minute later but he kept to that, and didn't say a word when he slid down to sit on the floor with his back against the door.

Xxxxxxxx

Kofi was in the locker room, talking to Truth when it started. When security came in, demanding that they leave the arena. It was still a little over a half hour before the show was supposed to start but most of the roster had already filed into the building.

Now, however, they were being ushered out hurriedly. Kofi was alarmed when he saw that it wasn't just security but when he was pulled out into the hallway, he spotted what looked like cops as well.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked the closest one.

"We need you to leave now, sir," was the only answer he got.

Kofi couldn't find his voice at the look on the man's face and they were all being pushed towards the arena entrance. Something was terribly wrong and it wasn't until he was near the entrance that he remembered something important.

"Wait. I have to-" He cut off when he turned around and tried to get back inside.

"We can't let you do that, sir." Kofi had a moment to study the stern look on the cops face and turned his head to arguing, saw Randy with a couple of others, heard both John and Punk's names pass his lips.

"You don't understand, my friend is still in there," Kofi protested even as he was being pulled forcefully outside. His fear heightened when he saw that security had already helped to get the fans filed out of the arena.

Kofi pushed against the hold the men had on him, opened his mouth to protest once again when it happened. The explosion rocked the building. Kofi, along with several others who had just been ushered out, flinched violently, throwing their arms up instinctively against the deafening sound.

And Kofi stared at the arena entrance when he recovered, frozen in shock.

Xxxxxxxxx

Punk was bouncing his head repeatedly off the door behind him. John let out a sigh as he watched. He knew why they were both there, knew why Randy and Kofi had done it. He wasn't happy about it, though. He'd told Randy about what had happened but he had never expected Randy to use it against him.

"You know why they did this," John spoke up for the first time.

"Yes, I do," Punk answered.

"Well…maybe we should talk about it?" John suggested hesitantly. He didn't want to. He'd thought he'd said everything he'd needed to before and he'd thought Punk had understood. But that thought had been disproved with the way Punk had acted afterwards. It was like going back to the way they had been before their storyline had started last summer.

"I'd rather have a root canal," Punk said.

John shook his head. "I thought we had an understanding." John paused but Punk didn't comment on that. "Look, I don't get it. I told you before we started-"

"I know," Punk cut him off. He stopped trying to give himself a concussion and ran a hand through his hair.

"Then why have you been such a jackass lately?" John pressed him. Truthfully, and he wasn't even really sure why, it did kind of hurt that Punk had been giving him the cold shoulder after they'd broken things off.

"Why do you care? It was just about sex, wasn't it? What do you care how I feel about you now?"

"I…" John couldn't exactly answer that question. Truth was, he and Punk hadn't been friends before they'd started sleeping together and that had only started because John had thought he was hot and because he'd needed…_something _after his divorce.

"Can't answer that one, can you?" Punk stood, paced away from John.

"I do…like you." John grimaced at his own words but they were the truth. He did like Punk and Randy obviously thought it was something more than that but he couldn't trust himself on that one.

"Right." Punk snorted.

"But I told you what it was about and you can be pissed at me all you want-"

"More pissed at myself," Punk interrupted him. John fell silent and studied him and, for the first time, felt a little guilty for the way things had gone between them.

"I tried…" He stopped himself this time, unsure of how to say what he was thinking. He'd broken things off with Punk as soon as he'd realized that; maybe, it wasn't just about sex for Punk. He'd seen it, on occasion, in Punk's eyes.

Punk met his gaze then, opened his mouth to retort, and that was the moment that the world exploded. It happened fast, of course. So fast, that John only had a second to register the deafening noise before the wall with the door exploded inward, something slammed into him and his world went dark.

Xxxxxxxxx

So, yes, I'm not entirely sure what would happen during a bomb threat and I'm not sure why this idea came into my head but it did. Hope you guys like it!


	2. Chapter 2

John woke slowly, with a groan. His head was pounding and he lay still for a minute until the pain subsided enough that he was pretty sure he wouldn't be sick. In the few moments of waking disorientation, he wondered if he'd landed wrong during his match. He'd had concussions before.

It wasn't until he opened his eyes, squinting against the flickering lights that he remembered he hadn't actually made it to his match. He squeezed his eyes shut again as he tried to remember how he'd ended up on the floor with a pounding headache and an aching body.

He remembered Randy sending him that text asking to meet him, he remembered only finding Punk in the room, and the anger he'd felt when he'd realized that Randy had set him up. Then…_something _had happened.

Rolling over, John pushed himself up onto his knees and he lost his breath at the sight before him. The room was nearly destroyed. Debris cluttered it and there was a hole where the wall with the door had been.

He had to stop moving a moment when the pounding in his head heightened but when he was able to think straight, he remembered again that he hadn't been the only one in the room. He blinked several times to clear his vision but Punk wasn't where he had been.

It was only then that a new sort of panic set in on him and, ignoring the ache in his body, he scrambled up to his feet, getting a clearer look at the room. It looked like a tornado had blown through.

"Shit," he breathed, stumbling through the mess on the floor. His gaze swept the room and stopped near the opposite wall when he saw tennis shoes sticking out. Scrambling that way, John pulled the pieces of the door and debris away, throwing them aside until Punk was completely uncovered.

John surveyed him, dropping down to his knees beside the man. "Punk!" He called, gripping his shoulder. He was relieved to see no blood and, after a few seconds, Punk woke up coughing.

"Fuck," Punk managed to get out, eyes squeezed shut. He curled his left arm protectively around his rib cage when he rolled to his side.

"What is it?" John asked. Punk's breath was coming out in shallow gasps.

"Ribs," He choked out when the coughing subsided completely.

"Broken?" John pressed, frowning in concern.

"Think so, yeah." He lay still for several seconds. John squeezed his shoulder in sympathy but would be glad if that was the only thing wrong. Broken ribs hurt like a bitch but at least they weren't life threatening. At least, they wouldn't be if he could keep Punk from moving around too much.

"Stay here," John ordered him, standing before Punk had time to answer. John maneuvered carefully through the room and the hole in the wall where the door used.

Xxxxxxxx

Punk was used to pain. It was pretty much a constant with his job and the fact that he never took anything for it. But, the pain radiating from his chest this time took his breath. He pushed himself into a sitting position just as John started to make his way out of the destroyed room.

He'd had broken ribs before, knew what they felt like and he was sure that was what it was…partly, anyway. But when he got upright, his stomach rolled with nausea. Arm wrapped around his ribcage, he leaned against the wall behind him and willed it to pass. When he finally cracked his eyes open, John was kneeling in front of him.

"I thought I told you not to move."

Gritting his teeth, and ignoring the reprimand in John's voice, Punk answered. "Can't get out?"

"No," John said, regret in his voice. He didn't elaborate but didn't have to. Punk closed his eyes again because the flickering lights were doing nothing for the nausea. It didn't matter anyway because he ended up leaning sideways a few seconds later and expelling everything he'd eaten that day.

Xxxxxxxxx

There was a pain in Kofi's chest that had nothing to do with a physical injury. He and the rest of the roster had been forced back away from the building but Kofi couldn't keep his gaze off it. He couldn't believe this had happened.

He'd heard the talk, as much as he thought they were trying to keep what really happened under wraps considering the fact that there were still way too many people loitering around. The fans that had bought tickets for the event, WWE staff, along with himself and the other wrestlers that had been escorted out.

Someone had called in a bomb threat just before one had actually gone off inside the building. Kofi could hardly process those facts, though, not when everyone wasn't accounted for and when that was his fault. He glanced to his side when Randy came close.

"This is our fault," he said quietly.

"They'll find them." Randy's voice was just as quiet and Kofi thought he wanted to sound sure of himself but he wavered. They weren't sure of that, had no idea where it had gone off.

"And if they don't?" Because that was a possibility. One that was horrifying and made him want to sit down where he was and have his own little break down.

He wondered when this would hit the news, wondered how many people knew. He imagined telling Punk's sisters that he'd been stuck inside when the bomb had gone off because Kofi had locked him inside.

"They have to." Randy blinked a couple of times and Kofi wondered if he was imagining telling John's parents the same thing.

Xxxxxxx

John supported Punk the best he could but the strangled cry Punk gave when John's hand came in contact with his abdomen made him move his grip to Punk's shoulders. He kept Punk upright when he began to sag during the vomiting episode and helped him lean back again when he was done.

"You done?" John asked worriedly, hoped the nausea was just from the pain. He started to get up. He'd spotted his bag earlier and was hoping he still had a water bottle in it when his eyes landed briefly on the mess Punk had made.

John's face paled and he turned his gaze back to Punk. He reached forward, gently moving Punk's arm from his chest.

"What are you doing?" Punk asked. He sounded exhausted and John could hear the agony in his voice. Without answering, John lifted his shirt and grimaced at what he saw.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "We have to get out of here."

"Yeah." Punk opened his eyes, met John's gaze and John knew that Punk knew what he'd seen, knew that it was more than just broken ribs. The blood on the floor confirmed that.


	3. Chapter 3

"You need to lie down," John said, pulling Punk's shirt back down, the frown never leaving his face. He'd never been prone to panic before but he was desperately fighting the urge to right then.

He watched the way that Punk was holding himself, the way that his arm went back around his midsection. He chewed his lip and glanced around the room. He could clear off a space but instantly became more worried about Punk lying on the floor. His mind was already jumping ahead to what the bruises on his abdomen meant, to what the blood on the floor meant.

He had no idea what to do with this. He'd had broken ribs before and knew lying flat had made them hurt worse. But the fact that Punk had thrown up blood, and the bruises…that meant something entirely different and worse.

When Punk shifted and then let out a groan, John realized that he'd been lost in his own head while he was hurting against the wall. He got up and as quickly as possible cleared out a place near the center of the room.

"Okay. Think you can get up?" John asked, grimacing at his own words. He knew Punk was in a lot of pain, could see it on his face and he didn't want to put any strain on him but he couldn't stay leaning against the wall like he was. He reached forward to help but Punk waved him off.

"Don't….I have to." He paused and John nodded, knew it was more about the least painful way. Still, he wanted to take hold of Punk when he levered himself up slowly. John did help him over to the space he'd cleared out and helped him lower himself down.

The process only took a couple of minutes but by the time Punk was lying down again, he was sweating like he'd run a mile and his jaw was clenched so hard, John was surprised he didn't break any teeth.

John stayed sitting with him, his hand automatically going to Punk's hair, brushing it back until Punk seemed to relax at least somewhat. John, however, could not relax. It wasn't until he rested a hand n Punk's forehead that he felt the heat there. Not too bad but it was still a cause for concern. Everything was, really. Punk's eyes were still closed and John watched him for another minute before he spoke.

"I'll be right back, alright?"

"Mmmhmm."

John brushed his hand one more time through Punk's hair before getting up and heading over to where he'd seen his bag. When he opened it, he nearly slapped himself. Sitting on top of his clothes was his cell phone. He'd thrown it in there after getting that text from Randy.

He was sure there were people outside, there had to be, working on getting them out. Randy and Kofi would have told them they were inside and where to look. He needed to talk to someone who would know what he needed to do, though. Someone who would know how to help Punk until they got out.

But he'd also seen something that was worth checking out when he'd gone to find a way out earlier. He found the water bottle he'd thrown in his bag earlier that day too but hesitated again. He had to talk to someone first.

"Oh, god." His attention was caught by the pained whisper and John scrambled back over to Punk just as he turned over on his side and began dry heaving. John supported his head but was afraid to touch him anywhere else. The panic was enveloping him again. Over the blood Punk was bringing up, over the tears of pain in his eyes, over the agonized moan he heard when his stomach seemed to finally settle. John sat on the floor and rested Punk's head in his lap. His hands were shaking when he reached for his phone again.

Xxxxxxxx

Since he'd been shoved back, pulled away from the crumbling arena, Randy hadn't moved much. He chewed on his thumbnail as he watched the firefighters and rescue workers. It was taking too long. At least, that was what it felt like.

He couldn't leave. The terror and guilt in his chest had only grown the longer he was left outside to wait. Kofi stood to his left with a similar expression on his face. When his phone rang in his pocket, Randy wondered if the news of what had happened had reached other people. But, when he pulled it out and saw the number on the display, he froze for a second before he could answer it.

"John?" He questioned, breathless and relieved.

Kofi and several other people standing around him turned at the name but he ignored them for the moment.

"_Randy_?" John sounded bewildered when he spoke but at least he was speaking.

"Yeah…Are you alright?"

"_I don't know what I'm doing. I should've…I meant to call someone…you're outside, right_?"

"Yes, I'm outside. Are you hurt?" Randy was already starting closer to the barricade of police tape that had been put up to keep people back.

"_No…but I need someone. An EMT or a doctor or someone who knows what to do_." Randy's stomach rolled when he heard the fear in John's tone.

"Who's hurt?" Randy asked even as he waved over the closest person inside the tape and knew that it could only be one person. The entire hallway had been deserted when he and Kofi had locked them in that room. They'd chosen it specifically for that reason.

"_I think…I think he's bleeding…inside. I don't know what to do about that." _

"Okay…okay, I'm gonna get you someone." He handed his phone over to the nearest cop a minute later with shaking hands, the relief he'd felt when John had said he wasn't hurt dulled in the face of the horror of what John's last statements meant. When he turned back, he knew Kofi and the others could see it in his eyes.

Xxxxxxxx

When he hung up his phone, there was a hollow feeling in John's chest. Bits of the mostly one sided conversation he'd just had kept running through his head. Words like _internal bleeding _and _shock. _

He ran his fingers lightly over Punk's forehead, cringing at the rising heat he felt there. The fact that there was _nothing _really he could do…he'd never felt more helpless or terrified. He hadn't been given too much information. The man he'd talked to had said he hadn't wanted to guess but John got the feeling that it was more for his benefit.

But…maybe there was something. He couldn't fix what was wrong with Punk. They'd need a hospital for that but maybe there was a way he could get Punk to one sooner. He had to try, anyway.

"I'm going to get you out of here," John said, brushing his fingers through Punk's hair.

"Thought you were blocked off."

John blinked in surprise. "Thought you were sleeping."

"Can't." He shifted and then grimaced, the arm he still had wrapped around his ribcage tightening.

"Sorry." He wished he had someplace more comfortable than the floor.

"Not the floor," Punk said, his lips twitching. "Slept on the floor before. Just not with…"

"Yeah." John paused. "You used to sleeping on floors?" He asked because he wanted to keep Punk talking. Because the agony seemed to have receded a bit in him.

"Well, when I slept, anyway. Of course, that was before."

"Right." John imagined a much younger Punk riding around with his friends when he'd still been in the Indies.

"Don't feel too bad. Probably wouldn't be sleeping even if I was in the cushy hotel room right now."

John almost smiled, wanted to be relieved by the fact that Punk was coherent and that the pain wasn't as bad as it had been a few minutes earlier but that was one of the things that he'd been told. That it could take a while before it got _really _bad. Because, apparently puking up blood wasn't _really _bad.

"I'm going to get you out of here," he said again.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Cena." There was doubt in his eyes, along with the pain.

When John spoke again, he made his voice firm, left no doubt in his own. "I'm not."


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the wait. Been a little distracted lately...personal problems and all. Hope you guys like this one!

XXXXXXXX

"What is it?" Kofi asked as soon as Randy had made his way back over to them. His heart was pounding. He'd seen the look on Randy's face, knew whatever it was wasn't good.

"Uh…" Randy shook his head, a mixture of guilt and worry on his face. "Don't know yet."

"You're lying," Kofi said, stepping closer to him. "I heard you talking to him. I saw you…"

"They're both alive," Randy stated first. "But…but John said that he's hurt pretty badly."

Kofi ran a hand over his face, didn't have to ask who Randy was talking about. "How badly?"

"They need to get them out," was all Randy said in answer but it was enough.

Xxxxxxx

When John came back into the room, he was frustrated, and a little angry. Randy and Kofi had locked them in a room near the center of the building, in a place that would be hard to get out of. And he'd tried. He'd spent the last hour trying. The hall ceiling had collapsed, cutting off any exit.

John had come back into the room every few minutes or so, hated to leave Punk alone for any length of time. He'd rolled up one of his shirts from his bag into a make shift pillow and rolled up several of his clothes to elevate Punk's feet. It was pretty much the only advice, besides keeping Punk still, that the EMT John had talked to earlier could offer.

The room was becoming almost stifling hot. It was the middle of August, after all, and John was afraid of what that meant. There was nothing he could do about it but he vaguely remembered seeing something on shock and how you were supposed to keep the person's body temperature in the normal range.

John walked over and sat down near Punk's head, once again replaced the make shift pillow with his lap. Punk had been dozing on and off. Even if he'd wanted to move, John knew he was in too much pain too. The fever had gotten steadily worse as well.

"I'm sure that they will find us soon," John said. He'd said it before, more than once.

"Soon enough?" Punk asked. At least he was still coherent. John could only take it as a good sign, that he hadn't lost enough blood to go into shock yet.

"Soon enough," John answered firmly because they had to. John couldn't think of the alternative.

"Think I'll be on the bench for a while," Punk commented. His eyes were still closed and he didn't protest it when John ran his hands repeatedly through Punk's hair.

"Sure you could use the time off. We haven't been getting much lately."

"Something wrong when this has to happen for that too."

John's lips twitched. "Come on; don't tell me you won't be going crazy after the second week."

"Probably after the second day. Never did do to well with down time."

"Yeah." John fell silent but the hand he had in Punk's hair never stopped.

John sat for several minutes in silence. And the silence kind of worried him too. Punk was hardly ever silent for any length of time, even on the rare occasions when he actually slept.

He'd found that out on the first night they'd spent together in the same hotel room. At the time, all he'd thought about was that, for the first time, Punk had fallen asleep in his hotel room instead of leaving.

The sleep talking was part of the reason why John had broken things off with Punk. Some of the things he'd mumbled in his sleep had prompted his decision. John grimaced when he remembered the way that Punk had pulled away from him, the way that his expression had automatically closed off when John had broken things off.

John was brought out of his thoughts when the flickering lights stopped flickering completely.

"The lights go out or do I have another thing to worry about?" Punk questioned him.

"Must've cut the power." John slumped a little. The room was pitch black now. He couldn't see Punk, much less see to find a way out. He felt panic start to squeeze him once again. How was he supposed to help Punk if he couldn't even see him?

"Probably just means they're working on getting us out." That was something he had to believe. Thinking about them being too late made him feel like he was going to pass out. But what could he do? The EMT he'd talked too had told him there wasn't much he could do aside from keeping Punk as comfortable as possible and to keep talking to him…well, he could talk.

"So…excited about the new storylines?" It was the first thing that popped into his head and he winced even before Punk answered.

"You mean the ones I'm probably not going to be a part of now?"

"Come on, you'll heal and come back stronger than before." John ran a hand over Punk's forehead again and had to fight to keep his voice steady. He was sure the fever had gotten worse. "Be back to pissing people off in no time."

"What I'm good at." He paused and then John had to hold him steady when he started coughing painfully. John lifted him a bit and held him close through it. It only lasted a few seconds but Punk went limp against John when it was over.

"If they don't make it here, you think they'll have the next RAW dedicated to my career?" Punk asked, voice filled with pain, breathing coming out shallow.

"That's not gonna happen. They'll make it."

"Lots of fake mourning? Or you think they'll actually feel it?" Punk's voice was growing weaker.

"Stop," John said, reaching for where he knew his bag was and pulling out a shirt so that he could wipe the sweat from Punk's face.

"What 'bout you? Will you feel it?" Those questions were mumbled and John could tell, even without being able to see, that Punk was on the verge of passing out again.

"Course I'd feel it," he finally answered quietly. Punk said nothing in return and the fact that his breathing came a bit easier told John that he had fallen asleep. John blinked back tears and did not move. If he couldn't get them out, he could at least stay, stay in contact with Punk. He couldn't consider what Punk had been talking about, not that alternative but he'd stay with Punk, beside him, no matter what.


	5. Chapter 5

CM Punk's DVD is the reason for this update…I had some major writers block for my wrestling stories but I think his DVD has gotten me back into wrestling a bit or at least gotten me back into Punk...This is still extremely short but I think it's gotten me back into this story so I'll have the next chapter out soon, hopefully.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was taking too long. The thought crossed John's mind yet again as he sat in the dark. Punk's head was still in his lap and John's fingers were still in his hair. Punk had been dozing on and off. His fever was getting worse, John could tell.

They were taking too long. Surely, Randy and Kofi had told them where he and Punk were. Why were they taking so long? The longer they took, the greater the fear that had settled into John's chest got.

It was practically chocking him. Sitting there and just waiting. Sitting there while Punk got progressively worse, while he slipped further and further away. And he was angry. Maybe he didn't have the right to be but he couldn't help it when he thought about it.

He'd known as soon as he'd been locked in the room with Punk why Randy and Kofi had done it. The way that Randy had been talking since he'd broken things off with Punk only proved it. And he was angry. Angry at Randy and Kofi for interfering, for the fact that their interference had led to this.

John was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a gasp, followed by a groan of pain. "What is it?" He asked quietly, his fingers still convulsively smoothing down Punk's hair.

"Hurts." That one word was mumbled and John felt it when Punk's fingers closed around his wrist.

"I know. Don't worry, they'll be here soon." God, he hoped he wasn't lying. They had to get to them soon. John knew how much it took for Punk to admit he was hurting.

"John?" Punk's grip on John's wrist tightened.

"Yeah?" John frowned and smoothed his free hand over Punk's forehead.

"John? I can't….I can't…" He trailed off, and John could hear the confusion in his voice. John had to blink back the tears that had suddenly sprung up. Confusion…that was one of the signs the EMT had told him to look for.

"It's okay," John managed to choke out and tried not to think about how much of a lie that was.

Xxxxxxxxx

"It's taking too long."

Randy didn't respond to those words, didn't even look over at Kofi. Sitting beside his car, gaze still trained on the arena where the rescue workers were. They'd been told to leave, everyone had but Randy couldn't. He couldn't leave until they brought John and Punk out.

He wondered who knew. Randy knew that it had gotten out. He'd already gotten a phone call from his parents. He wondered if John's family knew he was still trapped in inside. Wondered if that part of the story had gotten out just yet, that there were still people stuck inside.

He couldn't stop thinking about how John had sounded when Randy had talked to him. He'd heard the panic in John's voice, panic that Randy had adopted himself when John had managed to get out just how bad it was in there.

It would be his fault. His and Kofi's if the workers didn't get to them in time. If Punk died trapped in that building because he and Kofi had decided to interfere in his and John's personal life.

And all he'd wanted to do was to try and make his friend happy again. He hadn't been able to understand how John hadn't seen it. Randy had. He'd seen John with Punk, and he'd seen the fact that John had been happier then than he had been even with his wife.

Randy turned his gaze away from the building for the first time at those thoughts. He didn't think he was ever going to forgive himself for this one.

Xxxxxxx

"I'm sorry." John choked the words out. Punk wasn't awake, he knew that. John had wanted so desperately to keep him awake, terrified that he would wake again if he fell asleep but he was in so much pain and John couldn't…

"I'm sorry," he repeated, leaning down closer to Punk. He was sorry…sorry that he'd lied before and had been unable to get Punk out himself, sorry that he'd hurt Punk before that when he'd broken things off between them.

He thought maybe he was the one that was dying, or at least that's what it felt like. Sitting there, helpless. He'd rested one hand on Punk's chest when Punk had grabbed his wrist earlier and Punk's grip suddenly tightened once again.

"Hey," John said, the relief in his voice clear. Punk didn't answer him and John thought maybe he was wrong. Punk wasn't awake. He mumbled something and his head moved in John's lap and John leaned as close as he could.

Punk was talking in his sleep again. John had heard it before, on the rare occasions that Punk did sleep.

"…love…you…" The words were mumbled with a sigh.

John didn't blink back the tears this time. He'd heard that before. The last time, he'd responded by running.

"I'm sorry," he said yet again, wrapping his other arm around Punk as Punk's grip on his wrist loosened. John sat there in the darkness, crying for the first time in years, and he could do nothing but sit there as Punk's body relaxed further in his arms and his breathing turned shallow.

He wasn't sure how long it took. How long it was between when Punk had mumbled those last words in his sleep and John stopped feeling Punk's breath against his face.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the light that he first noticed. John was unsure of how long it was that he sat, hunched forward far enough that his forehead was nearly pressed against the unconscious man he was clutching. He didn't notice the noise when it came, didn't hear the people calling or breaking through the wreckage in the hallway.

In fact, his mind refused to register what the light really meant when it landed on him and Punk. What he did register, in a detached sort of way was the blue in Punk's lips. It was almost blinding but he didn't blink.

He didn't move when the rescue workers knelt beside him, didn't even register their presence until one of them put a hand on his shoulder. He stared up at the man for several seconds, but couldn't seem to understand what he was saying.

He blinked, the sound came back in a rush, and then he winced. He felt numb, and weaker than he'd ever felt in his life. Weak enough that two of the men easily pulled him away from Punk, despite his protests. His vision narrowed and he was aware that one of the men was still talking to him, but he was focused on Punk, and how one of the others had started CPR.

Darkness danced on the edge of his vision and he felt like he'd forgotten how to breathe as well. _Too late. _They'd been too late. The thought ran repeatedly over his mind and he might have even been saying it out loud. When the darkness invaded his vision fully, and he gave into it, it was the last thought that followed him down.

Xxxxxxx

John woke with a violent start. His eyes snapped open and he had a moment's disorientation and blurred vision before it came back, along with a pounding headache that was bordering on a migraine. He was aware of several things at once. That he was outside, because he could see the stars shining above him, and that there were entirely too many people surrounding him.

People were asking him questions, and trying to keep him still on the stretcher but he ignored them, refused to listen to it as he sat up abruptly. Dizziness nearly made him tumble sideways but he still shoved the intruding hands away.

Nausea rose up but he was sure it wasn't from the headache, or dizziness. _Punk was dead. _He remembered that with sudden, horrible clarity. Remembered leaning over the other man as his breath stopped. He shoved whoever it was in front of him back forcefully and, just as his vision cleared; he met the eyes of another man several feet away.

His vision focused on a point then, a point of unbridled fury. It was so strong he trembled with it and he was off the stretcher and moving to close the distance between he and a man that he had claimed for years was his best friend.

"You did this!" He hardly registered the startled look on Randy's face before he tackled the younger man, letting lose as devastating a blow as he could manage with his right fist as soon as they landed on the ground.

The response from the cops still on the scene was immediate. John got in one more blow before he was pulled back by three of them. And just as quickly as the rage had come, it died along with the burst of adrenaline it had given him.

He collapsed and he cried. Curled in on himself and all out sobbed like a child. _He's dead. _The thought repeated itself and he didn't realize he'd been saying it out loud until a forceful yell broke him out of his own head.

"He's not!"

John finally looked up again. There was a cop holding Randy away from him, and several more still standing around most likely in case John tried something again but John wasn't angry anymore.

"He's not dead," Randy repeated, softer than before now that he had John's attention, but still just as firm. "They just took him away in an ambulance. He was alive then."

John's arms dropped like dead weights beside him. He felt the relief, and disbelief. He'd been so sure…This time, he didn't protest when he was helped up and towards the second ambulance.

Xxxxxxxx

Randy had known John for nearly thirteen years. They'd been close friends for years. He'd seen John in a number of different ways. This was the first time he'd seen John sob like that. His own legs felt week as he touched the forming bruises on his face and he felt stalled, unsure of what to do.

John was right. This was his fault. And no time did he feel more like that than when he'd seen them bring Punk out. He hadn't been breathing on his own. Randy had gotten that much. And the EMT's had been throwing around words that Randy didn't fully want to understand.

And then watching John sob like that, cry in anguish over what had happened, and what he thought had happened…

Randy knew John loved Punk. He'd known it when John and Punk had been together before, even if John had been too much in denial to see it himself. Numbly, Randy glanced back to the half destroyed arena and he tried to imagine it. He tried to imagine being stuck somewhere with Sam while she was dying and he felt sick.

It didn't matter if Punk made a full recovery and John somehow forgave him. He'd certainly never forgive himself.

Xxxxxxxx

John sat in the farthest corner of the private waiting room, despite the fact that nobody else was there yet. He sat curled up as much as he could considering his large frame. He sat and stared out at the room without even seeing it.

He'd flat out refused to be admitted himself. They'd claimed he'd been in shock when they'd found he and Punk and John had thought that was kind of funny. Wasn't that what the EMT on the phone had told him to look out for in Punk? Not that he could do anything.

He thought he must have looked bad. Scrunched up in the corner of the room, still wearing the clothes he'd put on before the bad stuff happened. A nice nurse that had spoke in soft tones had brought him some scrubs she said he could use but he was finding it hard to get up now that he had settled. He thought maybe he should wash off some of the dust and grime but it was a passing thought that he couldn't find the energy to truly care about.

Apparently, he was coherent enough with them that they didn't force the issue of being admitted but he still wasn't sure how he'd managed that. His mind was still firmly back in that half destroyed room, in that darkness.

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he was just bad. He'd let Punk die. He should have done something more. He should have done something other than sit there and let him stop breathing. He could have done something. He should have tried harder.

He wasn't a good person. He'd never tried hard enough with Punk. And then he'd punched his best friend in the face. He almost laughed at that thought. What the hell was wrong with him?

He remembered every moment he'd ever had with Punk, starting back when Punk had hated him in the first couple years he'd been in WWE. He remembered the terror he'd felt the first time Punk had told him he loved him. They'd been in bed together and it was on one of those rare occasions when John had woken before him. Then he remembered Punk mumbling those same words, again while unconscious, just before he had stopped breathing.

John had never hated himself more. In that moment, sitting in the corner of the waiting room, he well and truly hated himself.

"John, honey?" The soft voice and soft hand on his arm brought him back to the present and he blinked several times. His mother was kneeling before him. How long had he been here? How had she gotten here so fast? Or had someone called her when the explosion had happened? He wondered briefly just how long he and Punk had been in that room. It seemed like it had been days, to him.

"John?" She pressed, leaning closer.

"Mom?" He finally managed voice shaky and then he collapsed against her. He clung to her like he hadn't since he'd been a child.


	7. Chapter 7

John stared blankly up at the hotel room ceiling. He had no idea what he was doing there, only that his parents had somehow convinced him to finally leave the hospital and try and get some rest. It hadn't been much of a fight, truthfully. The exhaustion that had crept in on him after hours of sitting there in that same chair in the waiting room for who knew how long had taken the fight out of him.

And he'd hated, too, watching the other people file in. Punk's family, who called him Phil and all had puffy eyes from crying and didn't know John at all, didn't know the things he'd done. They'd heard the story and one of them had even approached him, even hugged him.

It had been one of those girls that Punk called his younger sister, he had thought. He couldn't remember which one she was at the moment. He frowned up at the ceiling. Punk had explained it to him once, but he'd only been worried at the time where that was headed, where it was headed that they were comfortable enough with each other to talk about things like that.

His parents had actually been the ones to talk to Punk's sisters to get the information that he'd been in surgery to repair the internal bleeding caused by the impact he'd taken and broken ribs. They hadn't asked him any questions yet.

He wondered if they would. He'd never told anyone but Randy being with Punk. Hell, most people still thought he and Punk hated each other. He hadn't seen Randy since he'd punched the man in the face. He probably would feel guilty about that later. At the moment, he still didn't have room for it.

Xxxxxxxx

It was almost a week after the day he'd walked into that arena when he finally came out of it a little bit. He hadn't spoken to anyone in the company, although he knew he'd gotten phone calls, and people had tried to visit. His parents had been great about it, keeping everyone away and the only real contact he had were the people in the hospital and his own family.

His parents were apparently better than he'd thought because he got a call a week later from one of Punk's sisters asking if he wanted to see him.

Xxxxxxx

When he woke up again, it was still dark. His head felt like it had been stuffed with wool but he still remembered the last time he'd been awake. The pain from before was dulled now and he felt…slightly different.

He tried flexing his fingers; tried opening his eyes but both seemed a bit difficult. But he remembered John. John had been there before. John had promised he'd stay but he didn't hear John speaking in the low tones he had been before or feel the man's hand in his hair like it had been before.

Highly disorientated, still thinking he was stuck in that room, panic began to settle in and he tried harder to move. The pain flared up a few notches at this but he didn't care. He actually thought he heard someone speaking, someone familiar but it wasn't John.

And then there it was…John's voice. He couldn't make out the words, but he knew it was John's voice and then the fingers were back in his hair, smoothing it off his forehead and he relaxed almost immediately. John _hadn't _left.

He fell back asleep easily.

Xxxxxxxx

The relief finally settled in. Real, relief that made John's knees weak. Punk had come through the surgery fine. He was going to be fine. Given a lot of time, anyway. And John was going to get to see him. Punk was still unconscious but the fact that he was breathing on his own was enough.

John ignored everything else when he first walked into the room. The machines, the IV. After stalling in the doorway for just a second, John had walked swiftly over to the side of the bed and laid a hand over Punk's chest, which had been horribly still the last time John had seen him.

Now, it rose and fell in the easy rhythm that could have been simple sleep. John collapsed in the chair beside the bed but kept his hand in place before he finally let his gaze wonder up to Punk's face. The differences were there. The pain he'd seen etched in Punk's features even when he'd been sleeping before was gone. John figured that had to do with one of the IV's and he also figured that was going to be a fight when Punk finally woke up and was coherent enough to argue against the meds.

John's lips twitched and he almost smiled at the thought. Not at the thought of Punk being in pain, but at how stubborn he could be about it. He could be stubborn all he wanted as long as he kept breathing. As long as John could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

With a sigh, leaning forward, John realized that not being able to see Punk had contributed mostly to the stupor he'd been in since he'd been brought to the hospital. He needed this connection now and he desperately wanted to stay right where he was until Punk would wake up and tell him to fuck off.

"You love him, don't you?"

John gave a start at the voice and turned his head to see one of Punk's sisters, Cassie he was pretty sure her name was, in the doorway.

"I…I don't know." John let out a breath but he didn't lose the physical connection he had with Punk.

"It's okay, you know, if you do." She walked deeper into the room. She stared at him a moment, head tilted. "He loves you."

"How do you…?"

"Told me about it."

"And you still let me back here?" He asked, a little incredulously. He had figured they hadn't known about what had happened between him and Punk. Why wouldn't she hate him if she did? "Why?"

"Because you love him and because even though you were an idiot he hasn't been really happy with someone in a long time like he was about you."

John turned his gaze back on Punk. "I don't know about…that right now. I just know that I don't want to leave him."

She nodded and started to leave them alone again. John knew that he wouldn't get that wish, that he'd have to leave soon anyway but not just yet. Before she could make it out of the room, Punk decided to interrupt.

The movement was small but John's gaze was so intent that he saw it. He saw Punk frown, even saw the movement behind his eyelids. Then his fingers twitched and John abruptly stood. The chair he'd been sitting in skittered back a bit and Cassie turned.

"What is it?"

John didn't answer, he was still staring down at Punk's form. He seemed to be getting even more restless, shifting even as his eyes stayed tightly closed. Cassie came over to the other side of the bed and leaned down, speaking to him but it didn't seem to help.

John could have sworn that if he could have, Punk would have sat up and John could practically feel him panicking. Without thinking about it, John surged forward. He settled a hand on Punk's forehead as he began to speak himself.

"Calm down, Punk." He repeated the words several times as he did the motion of brushing his fingers through the man's hair the same way he had when they'd been trapped in that horrible little room. To his surprise, Punk did calm, almost instantly. When he looked up at Punk's sister, she looked a bit surprised as well. And then she smiled.

"See?"

"Yeah." John blinked back the sudden tears and didn't take his hand from Punk's hair.

Xxxxxxx

The only experience I have with surgery is my own so I don't truly know how long it would take to wake up from a surgery like this one, as the one surgery I've had was a different kind. But I think I will be using mine as inspiration for bits of this, such as pain levels and stuff.


End file.
